Image At the End!
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The return to the mainland was 'calm,' if you call Bakugo screaming about soloing Nine, Kaminari whining about dead batteries like he was an overworked vibrator, and Nejire trying to braid my hair like I was her personal Barbie doll calm. Eri was dead asleep on my shoulder the whole time, which made her smarter than the rest of us. We made it in one piece, but my patience didn't.
As I was about to call a taxi, Nezu stopped me.
"You and Yaoyorozu need to head to the Hero Commission to report."
I froze mid-swipe, thumb hovering over the screen.
I groaned so loud the old lady next to me jumped. "Can't I send Iida as always?"
"No," The rat barely gave me time to argue, smug enough that I wanted to punch him across the bay. "You battled with Nine, and Yaoyorozu will be there to make sure you don't put yourself into trouble."
Before I could snap back, Momo grabbed my arm and started walking like this was her problem to fix. "Come on. The faster we go, the faster it is over."
I tried digging my heels in. "This is kidnapping."
"You will survive," she said.
"I might not."
"You will."
"I won't forget this betrayal."
"That is fine. I will live."
I dragged my feet all the way to the car Nezu had pre-booked. The driver didn't even look surprised when Momo shoved me into the backseat like she was used to wrangling feral strays. I slumped into the corner, crossing my arms and glaring at her like she was the world's most polite warden.
"Do you have to pull me along like I am five?" I muttered.
"Yes," she said, tapping the screen to confirm the route. "Because if I didn't, you would already be halfway to a ramen shop."
She wasn't wrong, but she didn't have to say it out loud.
The ride was quiet, except for my occasional sighs and the faint clack of her typing out some document on her tablet. When the Hero Commission building came into view, I snorted. The place was huge and gleaming, all clean lines and mirrored glass, like they built it to intimidate anyone without a hero license.
"Don't make a scene," Momo said as we got out.
"Me? Never."
She gave me a look.
"Okay. Rarely."
We walked through the main doors. A receptionist glanced up, then immediately did a double-take when she saw me. Seems like I still put fear in people's hearts. Nice.
The receptionist fumbled her pen, caught it, and pretended like nothing happened. "C-can I help you?"
Momo didn't even pause. "Yaoyorozu and Midoriya. Here to report as instructed."
The woman nodded quickly, typing something into her terminal. "Fourth floor. Room 4B. They are expecting you."
"Thanks." Momo gave her a small smile and started toward the elevators.
I followed, boots loud enough on the marble floor to make her glance back. "You are doing that on purpose," she said.
"Doing what?"
"Walking like you want the whole building to hear."
I shrugged. "They should. Makes them sweat."
"That is not the goal."
"Not your goal."
She sighed and hit the elevator button. The doors opened with a ding. We stepped in, and I leaned against the back wall.
"Don't touch anything," Momo said, eyes forward.
"I wasn't going to."
"You were looking at the buttons."
"Maybe I like buttons."
She shot me a sideways look but didn't bother answering.
The doors slid open with a cheerful ding, and we stepped into a white corridor that smelled faintly of disinfectant and coffee. The Hero Commission loved making everything feel clean and professional, but all I saw were walls that probably heard more bullshit than a politician's campaign bus.
We didn't even get to the meeting room before some guy in a suit popped out of nowhere. Thin, balding, the type that probably hadn't thrown a punch in his life but thought he understood hero work because he read quarterly reports.
"Wildcard. Creati. This way."
Momo nodded politely. I didn't.
The room was bigger than I expected. Long table, sleek chairs, and a window so huge it practically screamed, 'Look at our power, peasants.' Five commission officials sat waiting, clipboards in hand, expressions tight. Two older women, three men of varying ages, all dressed in suits that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe, except the bit Nezu bought for me. Oh an system shit.
I flopped into a chair at the far end of the table, legs stretched out. Momo took the seat next to me and placed her tablet down.
One of the officials, a sharp-eyed woman with a bun so tight it looked painful, started first. "Let's get this over with. Walk us through your operation on Sorashima Island."
Momo spoke up before I could open my mouth. "Our objective was to secure the civilians and repel the villain incursion. Wildcard led frontline engagement while I coordinated defensive positions and supply chains."
They scribbled notes like they cared, but I knew better. This was less about "understanding" and more about finding someone to blame if shit went sideways.
"And Wildcard," the older man on the left said, adjusting his glasses. "You were the one who directly engaged the villain... Nine?"
I shrugged. "Yeah. Guy had six quirks and a god complex. Didn't exactly leave me much choice."
"And you incapacitated him?"
"Bat to the ribs. Knees to the gut. Standard stuff."
The man frowned slightly at "standard."
"And your method of engagement?"
"What about it?"
"Your reports suggest excessive force."
"Excessive would've been tossing him into the ocean and letting Selkie deal with the scraps," I said flatly. "I kept him alive. You are welcome."
The woman with the bun's lips pressed tight. Momo shot me a warning glance, but I didn't care.
"Do you understand the political implications of your actions?" another suit asked, trying to sound smarter than he was.
I leaned back "Do you understand how many people would've died if I didn't cave his chest in?"
That shut him up for a second.
Momo cleared her throat gently. "We followed protocol where possible. Given the enemy's power set and tactical behavior, Wildcard's approach was the only viable option."
"Was property damage unavoidable?" Bun Lady asked.
I smirked. "If you are more worried about busted tiles than a villain with enough quirks to nuke an island, you got your priorities fucked."
They didn't like that. Pens paused mid-scribble. Momo sighed softly beside me.
"This isn't a disciplinary meeting," another man cut in. "This is about debriefing and assessing response viability. Wildcard, Creati, the board simply wishes to understand your methods."
"Method was simple," I said. "Keep everyone breathing. Make the villains stop moving. Rinse. Repeat."
One of the older men tapped his screen and didn't bother looking up. "My notes say you detected the arrival of the villains before they reached Nabu. What is your source of information?"
I grinned. "Wouldn't you like to know, weather man?"
He froze mid-swipe. "W-weather man?"
Another suit leaned forward slightly, voice tight, probably to make it clear he thought he was important. "This is a serious question, Wildcard. Do not treat it lightly."
I leaned in too, elbow on the table, my grin wide. "And I reported before about my informant. They are classified, and that was already cleared by the Police Chief to protect their identity and our information network. You don't have the authority to force me on this one."
"Noted," Bun-Lady said finally, her voice clipped. She shot a glance at the others like she wanted this line of questioning shut down.
The meeting kept grinding forward.
Questions came like clockwork. Protocol adherence. Chain of command. Justifications for how many support assets I had deployed and whether some could have been spared from combat entirely. Momo handled most of it, deflecting half the concerns before they hit me.
Whenever they turned back to me, I gave them what they asked for to keep them from circling back, never more.
Yes, the evacuation was prioritized. Yes, civilians were protected. No, I didn't order my team to minimize structural damage. No, I don't feel bad about that.
They scribbled notes. Adjusted glasses. Cleared throats. Bun-Lady tapped her pen on the tabletop every time she disagreed but didn't have the grounds to argue.
Some guy at the end of the table tried to grill me on property destruction. "Do you know how much of Sorashima's infrastructure was damaged in the operation?"
"By villains. You have visuals on battles. You can send me the bill for any destruction I caused." I shrugged.
"You are not taking this seriously," one of the men said, his voice tighter than before.
"I am. You are just not asking real questions." I folded my arms. "You want numbers for repairs? Call a contractor. You want answers about how I stopped an island from turning into a villain's buffet? You are already holding the report."
"Wildcard," Bun-Lady said, her tone sharp. "This is not about fault-finding. This is about accountability and ensuring future situations are handled with-"
"Less cracked tiles? Sure. Next time I will ask Villains to play tag instead of trying to eat the island."
Momo's hand brushed against her temple like she had a headache brewing. "What he means," she said, calm as ever, "is that future responses can only be improved if the Commission prioritizes clearer coordination and faster reinforcements. Our team operated with limited resources. Any property loss was a direct consequence of enemy aggression."
"Direct consequence?" one of the men asked, skeptical. "Are you suggesting there were no alternative tactics?"
I got up, chair falling to the floor louder than I intended. "Alternative was for you to send a Pro Hero when I informed the possible arrival of a large number of villains. You didn't. We weren't even there to hold the fort. We were there for vacation. Thanks to our efforts, no civilian has a bleeding nose, let alone losses."
The older man at the end shifted uncomfortably. I didn't give him the chance to open his mouth. "The interrogation pointed out a leak in your database. The villain Nine was headed to Nabu to steal Cell Activation Quirks of the father and son, Shimano. In our efforts to protect them, villains caused destruction. All of these were verified with questioning the police conducted on the island right after the battle. Civilians unanimously reported the same. You also have footage of battles from every angle. You are free to check them for further investigation."
I turned to leave. "We are done here."
"Midoriya-" one of them tried.
"No. You got all the data you need."
"Wildcard, sit back down. This isn't finished."
"I am finished."
Momo's chair shifted slightly as she stood. "We will submit a written follow-up, as is protocol. If you have further questions, direct them through Midnight or Principal authority." She collected her tablet without waiting for their response.
"Yaoyorozu-" Bun Lady started.
"We said all that needs to be said," Momo replied.
As we stepped out into the corridor, Momo sighed quietly. "Do you ever make it easy?"
"I didn't come here to entertain bureaucrats."
"They weren't asking you to entertain them."
"They wanted someone to pin something on."
"You still could have been less confrontational."
I jabbed the elevator button. "Maybe if they sent one Pro Hero when I asked, we wouldn't even be having this meeting."
The doors opened. I stepped in first. Momo followed.
The ride down was quiet. She scrolled through her tablet like she was checking something, probably an early draft of her written report. I leaned back against the wall, staring at the floor number display.
"You know they are going to escalate this to Nezu," she said finally.
"Good. Let him handle it. That is his job."
"That is not how the Commission sees it."
"Not my problem. My job was keeping those civilians alive. I did that."
"They will try to spin this like we went off-script."
"They can spin however they want. End of the day, they are the ones who didn't move when I told them something was coming. Now they want to cry about cracked tiles and downed power lines."
Momo didn't reply. She was quiet for a moment, fingers still tapping the screen.
"Thanks for backing me up in there," I muttered.
She glanced at me briefly. "Someone has to make sure you don't light the building on fire."
"I wouldn't have lit it on fire. Just set off the sprinklers and ruined some designer suits."
"Do you hear yourself?"
"Yes. I sound very reasonable."
The corner of her mouth twitched like she was fighting a smile. "You sound impossible."
The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding. We stepped out into the lobby. The receptionist stiffened slightly when she saw me again.
"I will call for the car," Momo said.
I walked out, hands stuffed in my pockets, and said, "I am hungry, let's eat first."
Momo paused, probably debating if this was worth arguing over, then nodded. "Alright."
We stepped out into the street. I scanned the area while Momo fiddled with her phone, probably looking for a five-star place with linen napkins and breadbaskets. Not happening.
"You looking for a place?" I asked.
"I was," she said without glancing up.
"Stop. Let me handle it."
She glanced over. "What kind of place are you even thinking of?"
"The good kind."
Her eyebrow lifted slightly. "Define 'good.'"
"Broken door, sticky counter, no menu, and a guy in the back grilling meat like it is his life's mission."
"That does not sound sanitary."
"That sounds delicious."
She sighed and tucked the phone away. "Fine. Surprise me."
"Do you like meat and nothing but meat?"
She gave me a look, then nodded. "Sure."
"Good answer."
I led the way down a side street, away from the polished sidewalks and glass storefronts. The faint smell of charcoal drifted from somewhere nearby. I zeroed in on it like a bloodhound.
"You have a talent for finding questionable places," Momo said.
"Questionable places are where real food lives. Fancy places just give you plates with plants arranged like modern art and call it a meal."
"You are being dramatic."
"I am being honest."
Around the corner, I spotted a small shop with a door hanging crooked on its hinges. The glass was foggy, and a faint haze of smoke curled out from the open window. A hand-painted sign above read La Parrilla de Elena.
"This is it," I said.
Momo stared at the place like she was already imagining her stomach lining rebelling. "It looks… humble."
"Don't insult her. You will see."
I pushed the door open, and a wave of sizzling meat smell hit us like a freight train. It was the kind of smell that told you cholesterol was waiting with open arms, but damn if it didn't promise happiness.
A woman in her thirties leaned on the counter, lazily scrolling her phone. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, and her apron was smeared with grease stains that spoke of a busy kitchen, or someone who stopped caring. She glanced up, her eyes catching mine instantly.
"Well, well… what have we here?" Her voice rolled out like she was waiting all day to say it. "My favorite trouble."
(Check Here)
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Your FBI agent saw you finish Chapter 164.
He shook his head.
And whispered, "Coward."
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